Chapter 25
Despite Richard’s words of caution, Evangeline felt a wholly unexpected excitement over her new role as chaperone.
Lord Burke had called twice, sent flowers—to Joan and to Evangeline—and asked to take her niece driving. He also looked at Joan with the sort of veiled fascination Evangeline recognized. He might not think himself the marrying kind, but he likely soon would.
Of course she’d written to Richard for intelligence of the viscount.
He’d reported back favorably, as far as these things went.
And Evangeline, not unaware of the delight Joan was trying desperately to hide at being noticed by one of the handsomest, most eligible single peers in London, made her first grievous error.
When Lord Burke had written to her, very properly, asking permission to take Joan driving, Evangeline had seen the smile that lit Joan’s face when she read it.
She’d given her permission. And Joan, despite blushing furiously and muttering about Lord Burke’s general unreliability, had accepted the invitation.
As a result, two days later, Evangeline was pacing the drawing room, with no idea where her niece was or when she would be back.
Smythe, the Bennet butler, could only tell her that Lord Burke had called very early that morning, that Joan had been inexplicably up and dressed to go out, and they had driven off together.
That was not what Evangeline had envisioned.
She had pictured Burke calling at a decent hour, coming inside like a proper gentleman, and answering her questions about where they intended to drive and when to expect them back.
She had been prepared for that, even though it had given her a spark of incredulous amusement that she, of all people, was such a starchy chaperone.
Still, she told herself not to worry; a turn or two around the park was as respectable as Marion could wish, and would only take an hour.
An hour had gone by. Then another. And another.
Joan and Lord Burke did not reappear.
Even as she told herself not to panic, that rushing to the park in her own carriage in search of them would be a mistake, Evangeline couldn’t stop agonizing over where they might be.
And what she would tell George. Where had Burke taken Joan?
What could they be doing? She wore a path in the carpet, pacing from door to window.
Smythe silently brought tea, with the brandy decanter alongside the pot.
Evangeline laughed bitterly when she saw it. “You’ve read my mind, Smythe.”
“Don’t fret, my lady,” replied the butler gently. “Miss Bennet is a sensible young lady.”
She glanced sideways at him. “And Lord Burke?”
He conceded that hit with a dip of his head. No one knew, for certain, about Lord Burke.
She picked up the decanter and poured a healthy splash into her cup of tea. “What do you think Sir George would do to me, if there were a scandal? Drawing and quartering, or pistols at dawn?”
He smiled, just a little, at that. “He’s not at home, madam. Who’s to say he’ll know anything about this?”
She smiled reluctantly. Smythe had said much the same thing to her decades ago, opening a scullery window to let her climb back into the house after a night out as her father furiously searched the attics.
Smythe had become the second footman when Evangeline, only a year younger at thirteen, was just embarking on her wild phase.
In Sir Robert’s strict household, they’d been complementary spirits.
He’d helped her avoid several punishments, usually when she’d slipped out of the house for one madcap adventure or another, and she’d helped him along in his post, letting him know her parents’ preferences and even slipping him her pin money when once he’d accidentally spoiled some table linen and needed to replace it before it was discovered.
She waved at a chair. “Will you sit with me?”
He hesitated.
She got up and strode to the drawing room door and closed it firmly.
She didn’t need to compound her mistakes by compromising his authority in the household.
“Please, Denny,” she said, massaging her temples with her fingertips.
“I need company . . . to stop me from doing something very reckless indeed . . .”
He perched on the edge of a chair. “If I may be so bold . . .”
“Please!”
“Miss Bennet does not receive many callers,” he said.
“Gentleman callers, I should say. I was struck by how pleased she was to see Lord Burke this morning. She must have expected him, to be awake and dressed so very early of a morning, but she also looked surprised to see him.” He cleared his throat.
“I’ve known the young lady since she was an infant.
Her delight was obvious.” He darted a quick glance at her.
“She reminded me of you, Miss Evie, when something unexpectedly turned your way.”
Evangeline scrunched up her face ruefully. “Never say so! She’s much cleverer than I ever was.”
“As I said,” he replied with a straight face, “she’s a very sensible young lady.”
She laughed. “Not like me at all, then!” Then she threw herself into a chair. “And I can only pray my brother isn’t much like my father, where his daughter is concerned.”
“He’s not.”
She looked up in surprise. He seemed to realize how confident he’d sounded, and cast his gaze up to the ceiling, giving him a vaguely pious air. “What I meant to say is . . . Sir George is a thoughtful gentleman. His temper is . . . far milder than Sir Robert’s.”
“Thank heavens for that,” she said with feeling.
Another small smile crossed his face. “And he’s a devoted father. Beyond fond of Miss Bennet and her brother. Much more . . . tenderhearted than Sir Robert, if I may say so.”
“You may,” she told him warmly, “and I’m very glad to hear it.”
Smythe rose to his feet. “Chin up, ma’am,” he said bracingly. “I’ve been in this household for nearly forty years, and I’ve never yet told tales when I shouldn’t.” He pressed his lips together in exaggeration.
Evangeline smiled ruefully. “To my inestimable benefit! Thank you, Smythe. You’re invaluable.”
He bowed. “I do my best, ma’am. I daresay all this will work out well enough, with a little time, and no need for anyone to do anything reckless or inappropriate.
” He left her there, and finally Evangeline heard the rattle of carriage wheels outside the house, drawing to a stop.
She flew to the window and spied Joan’s bonnet as Lord Burke handed her down from the curricle.
Both appeared unhurt and perfectly proper.
Thank God. Thank every saint in heaven. She pressed one hand to her breast and made a silent vow not to be so negligent again, when it came to Joan’s safety. She must keep a closer eye on the girl, for Joan’s own sake—and her own.
Then she took a deep breath before going into the hall to meet her niece.